It was Hillary’s best of times; it was Trump’s worst of times. It was the age of wisdom of years of service; it was the age of foolishness of a wasted life. It was the epoch of belief in each other and our country; it was the epoch of the incredulity of otherwise credulous cretins. It was the season of beaming Light to the world; it was the season of fearing Darkness from the world. It was the spring of continued hope; it was the climate-denying winter of despair. We had everything before us; we had nothing before us because our greatness was behind us. We were all going direct to Heaven, led by a North Carolina preacher; we were all going direct the other way, taken there by a demon with imp’s hands.

Donald Trump looks at the world and sees enemies to flee, allies to flout, patsies to fleece and strong men to flatter. His convention reflected that, offering a way out of a dark labyrinth of terror that exists only in the fevered brains of a dwindling minority of cranks looking to regain the hegemony that chance and circumstance had devolved upon authoritarian white males through centuries of dungeon, fire and sword.

But in spite of dungeon, fire and sword, Hillary’s convention extolled the Faith of our Mothers and our Fathers, the creed that was written – to borrow a phrase – into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a Nation. “All folks are created equal,” she seemed to say, “let us show you.”

Yes, we can.

After the myopic, dystopic, frantic and frenetic Republican worldview on display in Trump’s Cleveland cacophony, the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia was a soothing and soaring symphony. Early disunity and the Debbie Wasserman Schultz kerfuffle could almost have been scripted, as they provided a jarring contrapuntal chord to start the piece. But harmonious moments through all four movements of the four nights, with only brief callbacks from hecklers in the vomitorium, made a decidedly prose candidate seem like Euterpe, the Muse of music, so that even her typically prosaic, cough-punctuated speech transcended her creaky voice to become a noble crescendo with depth, gravitas and the power to make walls come a-tumblin’ down.

Kudos to whomever designed this convention. As in every other aspect of this campaign, it showed how a professional, prepared candidacy can out-think, outmaneuver, and outfight a loud-mouthed palooka with a weak left, a slow right and an orange, glass jaw. Hillary and the Democrats hit him with Left uppercuts, Right hooks and jabs from the Center. Trump got worked in his corner, her corner, and the center of the ring. He never laid a glove on her, but he did manage to stop most of her punches with his face.

This is more than a tale of two conventions, however. We have now set the foundation for the remaining hundred days to this campaign, as well as the next four years of American history. The word has gone forth; there is a new philosophy in America, for a new American Century, and it is this: in a world beset by strife, in a nation benighted by indifference, in an election bedeviled by rage…

“…it showed how a professional, prepared candidacy can out-think, outmaneuver and outfight a loud-mouthed palooka…”
What a magnificent boxing analogy and absolutely apt, complete with the visual of Drumpf “…stopping most of her punches with his face.” Wonderful imagery!
Hillary did manifest strength last night while at the same time
promoting the idea that “…the sky’s the limit…” both for women and America. And we’re off!

Perhaps the only ‘low’ note is that the SOB is still breathing, after the many reasons shown that someone should have gleefully choked him to death. Maybe one of those small businesses he ruined. That and the poll numbers. Those I really don’t “get.” Even with the example of Dubya sneaking into office twice, it’s inconceivable that Donnie Drumpf is polling double digits. Did Putin hack those numbers, too?

PKM, after 30 years of relentless highlighting of Bill and Hillary’s every misstep–both real and imagined–and impugning the motives of their every act, the Republican party has convinced many people who should know better that Hillary is evil incarnate. No amount of evidence will convince some of them that she is not a better alternative to Donald Trump, but the Democratic National Convention will surely bring some of those less susceptible to propaganda into the Democratic fold for now. Don’t worry too much about the poll numbers, but don’t get complacent. Instead, get out the vote!

e platypus onion, that gif always reminds me of John Carpenter’s ‘They Live,’ which featured the longest fight in film (between Roddy Piper and Keith David).

Yes, Get Out the Vote. If your friends-family-colleagues-neighbors-congregants-etc. need your help to register and vote, help. It might mean letting them access your high speed internet to track down documents. It might mean a small gift of cash (masquerading as a loan if necessary to save face). It might mean a ride or rides to get photo ID or make it to the polls.

I’ve never sat out an election. When I was 16, I carried petitions door-to-door to get 18-year-olds the right to vote, and I first registered in 1972, when as an 18-year-old I first exercised that right. I registered as a Democrat. I don’t change my registration to Green, even though I’ve been an environmentalist since reading Silent Spring, even though Green better represents my principles, because primaries matter. I vote in every Democratic primary and every general, every year. If there were more citizens like me, we might not have the obstructive, disastrous Congress we have now. Do your civic duty, and GET OUT THE VOTE!!

I don’t think of her voice as “creaky.” In fact, I thought she sounded strong and determined, neither too high nor faux-low. The GOP’s been beating on the “her voice is awful” drum, but they don’t like to hear women speak at all other than “Yes, master” in a soft near-whisper.

Damn straight! And I didn’t hear any coughing, either.
She sounded a bit hoarse at the rally today, but that’s to be expected.

You know what impresses me about all 3 of the last candidates – Hillary, Bernie, and even Donnie? Their incredible vitality. They’re all well past traditional retirement age, and their stamina and energy are amazing.

I, OTOH, have all the spring and energy of a wet dishrag, though I’m just turned 63. And DH is deteriorating at an alarming rate.

At the beginning of the speech, Hillary did need to clear her throat and coughed a little. There was nothing else for snacilbupeR to jump on, so they piled on something extremely minor.

When snacilbupeR whine about Hillary’s voice, that’s just sexist pig code for – She’s a woman! EeeeK! And Scumpf’s tiny hands flail about as he runs in terror of a woman who is stronger, smarter, wiser, everythinger, than him.

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About

Welcome to The World's Most Dangerous Beauty Salon, Inc.

My name is Susan DuQuesnay Bankston. I live in Richmond, Texas, in the heart of Tom DeLay's old district. It's nuttier than squirrel poop here.

I am honored and privileged to know Miss Juanita Jean Herownself, hairdresser extraordinary and political maven. Since she does not have time to fiddle with this internet stuff, I type her website for her and you can read it if you want to. If you don't, she truly does not give a big bear's butt.

A lot of what I post here has to do with local politics, but you probably have the same folks in your local government.

This ain't a blog. Blogs are way too trendy for me. This is a professional political organization.